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Allie fumbled for her phone on the night table, struggling to stop the beeping alarm. Obviously she’d set her alarm for the wrong time. The inky blackness of her room proved it was too early to get up. She didn’t work in the kitchen, or with the horses, so she could enjoy the luxury of sleeping in—one of the perks of working late at the dance hall ...except she wasn’t working at the hall.
Groaning, she managed to shut off her cell phone before flopping back on her bed. Though never very alert in the morning, she remembered her dance lessons had been cancelled. And she did have to get up early. Worse, last night, she’d decided a good assistant would rise a full hour early and set up the roping dummies.
That didn’t feel like such a good idea now. Carter probably wouldn’t even appreciate it. She snuggled back beneath the covers, deciding that guests wouldn’t mind waiting a bit. If someone complained, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. Sharon was astute enough to judge a comment about lack of attention for what it really was, a piqued guest wanting more of a gorgeous cowboy’s time.
Still, there had been more than one complaint yesterday. And Carter had wasted valuable teaching time helping her move the bales. If she were too slow today, he might feel obliged to help her again, making those guest complaints her fault. Unfortunately he’d rejected her suggestion about setting up the bales early, along with having coffee available. But if he weren’t successful on Man Tracker, he’d be evaluated on his value as an instructor. And Sharon gave considerable weight to guest feedback when deciding which employees to keep over the long winter.
Allie always felt bad when employees were fired. It wasn’t just the loss of a paycheck, but a home. Despite Carter’s prickly personality, she could understand his appeal to the guests, his value to the ranch. And if it was in her power to help any co-worker, she would never just stand back and do nothing.
Once she made the decision to rise, it didn’t take long to get ready. She had her hair and makeup routine down to seven minutes flat, and that included mascara and lipstick. When she was nine, it had always taken much longer to get it right, to her mother’s great disappointment.
“You look a mess, Allie. Go back upstairs and pretty yourself up, before your father sees you,” she’d say.
He’s not my father, Allie had thought. Her “father” changed every year, sometimes every month. But she never said a word. Arguments only caused more conflict, and she didn’t want the new man to walk out. Her mother was much nicer when she had a boyfriend.
Brushing aside the memories, Allie recapped her mascara—the one guaranteed to last eighteen hours—and selected a lavender cowboy hat to match her shirt. She angled it on her head, adjusting her ponytail to a comfortable position before stepping out.
The air was still crisp but already a comforting number of people were heading toward the dining hall. The sun hadn’t poked over the ridge yet, but she recognized several wranglers simply by the shape and set of their hats. Their greetings were surprisingly cheerful, despite this ungodly hour.
Pete, the good-natured cowboy from Australia, accompanied her into the dining hall, holding open the door and then pouring her some coffee. Although her stomach wasn’t ready for food, it was pleasant sitting with the wranglers, watching them dig into scrambled eggs and flapjacks while they talked about last night’s bonfire, the new horse that had shipped in, and the latest football scores.
The cook shuffled over, her voice slightly accusatory. “I didn’t expect to see you this early, Allie. But I just stuck a batch of bread in the oven. I’ll bring it to your table once it’s ready.”
Allie rose and gave the woman an affectionate hug. Cookie was outwardly gruff but treated her more like a favorite niece, always making sure Allie had fresh cornbread with extra huckleberries. Usually though, it served as lunch.
“I’m helping out with an early bird class that needs some prep,” Allie said. “So I can’t wait. But probably everyone there would enjoy your cornbread.”
“Then I’ll send it over to the dance hall. Coffee, muffins and cornbread. What time do you want it?”
“Six-thirty,” Allie said. “But it’s for a roping class in the arena by the barn.”
The cook looked momentarily puzzled then nodded. “Don’t get hurt,” she warned, before shuffling back to the kitchen.
Allie picked up her mug and drained her coffee. She wasn’t going to get hurt. In fact, she was looking forward to throwing a rope and showing Carter how much she’d improved. And he’d have to be pleased when he arrived and saw that the roping dummies were already set up. If the scruffy cat wasn’t sleeping in the wheelbarrow, she’d finish extra quickly and have time to relax and enjoy a proper breakfast.
She detoured over to the discarded plates and scooped some bacon and eggs, along with cold cornbread, into a napkin. Maybe she could soften up the cat with a little treat. She could probably make him move, but if the cat left the wheelbarrow on his own, she wouldn’t feel so guilty about taking his bed.
She swept from the dining hall, cradling the napkin of leftovers, buoyed by her careful planning. With refreshments arriving a full half hour before the roping class began, she’d also have time for another cup of coffee. Carter might not think the food was necessary, but he probably hadn’t even read the instructor guidelines. Guests were always happy to take a break and rarely left bad reviews if they were well fed, regardless of the lesson quality.
The sun had risen while she was in the dining hall and already wranglers were moving horses from the pasture and barn to the holding pens. The arena was empty though and clearly there wouldn’t be a problem snagging a wheelbarrow. There were several parked by the door.
She checked each one, rather disappointed when she didn’t see the sleeping cat.
“What are you doing down here? Need any help?”
She recognized the Aussie accent and turned toward Pete. He was leading three horses from the barn. The animals towered over her and she edged back before they stepped on her toes.
“No thanks,” she said. “I’m just setting up for a class.”
“Great,” he said. “I love a barn dance. Be sure to save me a waltz, or ten.” He shot her a flirtatious wink as he passed.
Everyone assumed all she did was dance. She opened her mouth to correct him—to say she was actually helping with the roping class—but he and the horses had already disappeared around the corner.
It would have been comforting if he’d stayed and talked a little. She wasn’t used to being alone in this area and the sheer quiet was unnerving. There was no music, no chattering guests, very little sound at all, just some birds chirping and a persistent fly that buzzed around her hair. If she really strained, she could hear voices from the holding pens, and their muted conversation made her feel better.
She picked up the handles of the closest wheelbarrow and pushed it through the doorway, slowing to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. All the stalls were empty. This building was also used for hay storage and the occasional barn dance, and it was rather creepy without animals or people. Yesterday, Carter and the guests had been close by. Right now though, the entire area seemed deserted.
“Good morning,” she called. Nobody answered. Not even a horse poked its head over a door. Fortunately the roping dummies were in the same spot as before, not far from the wide entrance and alongside the stacks of hay. She maneuvered two bales into her wheelbarrow, considered adding a third but elected to keep her load light. She had plenty of time before guests would arrive.
Movement flashed, making her jump. But it was only the cat, tail twitching as he leaped to the top of a bale. He didn’t look like he was about to scratch or hiss, but he definitely glared as if she were intruding.
She pulled out the food scraps and knelt down, breaking up the bacon in smaller pieces and laying them out in an attractive smorgasbord.
The cat watched, unimpressed.
“It’s okay. The food’s all yours.” She pushed it a few inches closer. “Eat whenever you want.”
His nose started twitching, along with his crooked tail. He leaped down from the hay and stuck his face over each morsel, inspecting the offerings. Finally he ate. Surprisingly, he liked the cornbread the most, preferring it to the omelet and bacon and he seemed to seek out the huckleberries. Best of all, he was purring and that contented sound, coming from such a scary-looking cat, made her feel just as good as when she helped a disgruntled guest.
“I’ll bring leftovers again,” she promised. He might also appreciate a little cream. If the coffee arrived before the students, she’d try to find out. Judging from his hiss yesterday, he didn’t tolerate strangers but from the look of his scars, he was wise to have trust issues.
